


The Rest of Us Live There

by demonsonthemoon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Divergent, Insomnia, Mild Self-Loathing, Other, Politics and emotional trauma, Post-Lesson Learned, it's not fun!!!!, maybe I don't think it's emphasized but let's be real this is Juno we're talking about, reunion scene, tell me if there's anything else I should tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: Juno left Nureyev. That's a fact he's very slowly learning to deal with. Then he receives a gift, of all things, because it seems the master thief isn't done with him.Mind games. Damn, but Juno hates those.





	The Rest of Us Live There

**Author's Note:**

> Does this fic make any sense? I sure as hell don't know!
> 
> The first part of it just wouldn't leave me alone, as an idea, but I started writing it without any idea of where the whole thing was going and... this is the result.

There's a very specific feeling attached to the act of walking into your office first thing in the morning and immediately spotting the empty bottle on your desk.

Juno Steel, private eye, knows that feeling well.

His headache, a potent blend of sleep-deprivation and hangover, is just as familiar. At least he actually went back to his apartment last night.

Juno sighs. He picks up the empty bottle and drops it in a box already containing a few of its friends. He's pretty sure he hadn't used a glass last night, but checks anyway. He's already broken one a week ago, and is hoping he won't have to blow is already thin budget on _glassware_ of all things. He sits down at his desk.

There's not actually anything for him to do. He doesn't have a case. He's stretched the paperwork for the last one probably as long as he can. There's no real reason for him to be in his office this early, except the habit of it. And the fact that being alone in his apartment scares him shitless if he's not drunk when he gets there.

At least, in the office, he has Rita. He has the comforting sound of streams playing from another room.

He closes his eyes - his _eye_ , really - elbows on desk and head in his hands.

This is what he wanted. This is what he fucking _chose_ for himself.

He left. And leaving means _this_. It means whiskey, and Hyperion City, and trying to help but failing. It means being even more useless than before, because he can't _shoot_.

He hears Rita walk into the office. He sits up and considers making himself look busy, but thinks better of it. Rita opens the door to his separate room, a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning mister Steel!" she exclaims, drawing out the single syllable of his name. "You've got mail today!"

Juno frowns. Most of the mail they get is digital, so this is a rare occurence. And Rita looks much too excited for the package to contain tax papers.

She hands him a small, thin box, the kind of envelopes they use for interplanetary shippings. Juno turns it around in his hands. There's no return address.

Rita is still standing in front of him, moving from one foot to the other and worrying her lower lip.

"Well? Aren't you gonna open it? I wanna know what it is!!! Well, except if it's a bomb... Oh no! Do you think it's a bomb mister Steel?"

"They scan interplanetary correspondance before delivering it. If it's a bomb, it's a damn good one and I probably couldn't disarm it anyway."

"That's... reassuring?" Rita asked, wringing her hands together.

Juno shaked his head, still turning the package over in his hands. "I hope this isn't a mistake," he said as he finally opened it. He couldn't blame Rita when she took a step backward.

Nothing happened as he opened the box, which contained a small dark bag. The cloth felt silky to the touch. Juno touched it carefully, trying to guess what was inside. It was small, and thin. He couldn't guess more from touch alone, and carefully untied the black ribbon that closed the small bag. Rita was watching him anxiously from a few steps away. This job really wasn't good for either of their mental health. Poor Rita.

He dropped the mysterious object in his palm, and stared at it for a few seconds. It was a tie pin. A tie pin made of a silver-colored metal, carefully decorated with a spiralling design. At the end of it, inside a blooming flower made out of the same metal, sat a small gem. The stone was a light lavender color, a natural smoke-like pattern adding variety to its shades. It was beautiful.

And probably cost more than two months of Juno's rent.

"What is it? What is it boss?! Do I need to run? Do I need to call the HCPD. Tell me what it is, boss, tell me!!!"

He finally looked up at Rita, and held the pin towards her. "A tie pin."

"What?" Rita frowned and came closer. She had to bend across Juno's desk to get a good look, but he was reluctant to stop holding the gift. He couldn't really have said why.

"It's beautiful," Rita exhaled, looking much calmer than just a minute previously. There was a spark in her eyes as her fingers closed around Juno's so she could touch the pin lightly. "Who sent it to you?"

Juno shaked his head, taking back the pin and laying it on its small bag. There was no note inside the bag, nothing on the box, and nothing within it either.

"I don't know," he said, though the knot in his stomach told a slightly different story. He could guess, maybe. It didn't make a lot of sense, he had no idea what it meant, but he could _guess_. He didn't say anything to Rita.

"A secret admirer! I had no idea you had a secret admirer! And from another planet! Oh, it's so romantic, it makes me think of this movie called _Sand the Color of her Hair_ which is a really nice movie, let me tell you, it's about this lady from Tau Ceti who's never left her planet before, and she meets this stranger who's tall and handsome and who's just run away from their husband and..."

Juno tunes Rita out, picking up the tie pin again and tracing its markings with one of his fingers. The thing looks so delicate he feels it might just break in his grip. At the same time, he knows the metal would be very resistant. It's worth a lot, Juno's sure.

"So they escape together from the invasion, but Nergüi still hasn't told Clarisse that they're on the run, and they want to keep their promise except-"

"Hey Rita?"

"Yes boss?"

"Could you try to trace back where this package's from for me?"

"Uh, sure boss. There's no tracking number, though. And if there's not return address, it probably means the sender didn't want to be recognized."

"I know, Rita," Juno acknowledges. "That's why I'm asking you to do it instead of trying it myself. You've got much better chances at getting anywhere with this."

"Oh boss," Rita replies, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

Juno forces his face to relax and sends her a warm smile, one that attempts to exude confidence and ease.

"I'll get to it right away. My show only starts in twenty minutes anyways."

She closes the door behind her, and Juno can hear her giggle to herself as she sits at her desk.

He waits a total of two seconds before pushing his chair back and standing up. He leaves the tie pin on his desk and stares at it as he starts pacing.

Why would he do something like that? There has to be a reason, a meaning. There has to be _something_ that will have the whole thing make sense.

He stops pacing, and stares at the pin, like he's trying to set it aflame with his eye, or trying to read its thoughts using alien technology.

Of course, the only thing it does is make his one eye start to throb with overexertion.

He opens his top-right drawer, and pulls out the last bottle of whiskey he has in the office. He sits down, doesn't bother looking for a glass, and takes a swig.

The alcohol burns slightly as it goes down his throat. He can feel the previous night's hangover laugh at him and at his sorry state, and takes another gulp.

He picks up the tie pin again. It's too precisely decorated, too thin to hide anything. The gem couldn't possibly hide a microphone, or even a transmitter. It really is just a beautiful tie pin.

It could be romantic, like Rita said. A beautiful gift. But there's no note, no explanation. No reason for _him_ to send Juno anything, not without some kind of ulterior motive. Juno has to find it. Find out what it means.

Of course, the pin has to be stolen. Which means it should be returned. He runs his thumb over the metal. Of course he can't return it.

Reporting it to HCPD would be madness. It's most likely impossible to trace back the sender, even with Rita's skills. And the police holds enough of a grudge against Juno that they would jump on this occasion to put the crime on his back and have him jailed for a few years. Hell, he knows a few criminal families who wouldn't hesitate to help rig the case.

And even if someone believes him, there's no saying they would be able to trace back the owner of the object. The person could be anywhere. Not just anywhere on Mars, or even anywhere in this galaxy. They could be _anywhere_.

There's no use. He has to keep this thing. Keep it, and stare at it, and wonder what it means. There is nothing else to do, not if he feels uncomfortable bringing attention to _him_.

Juno closes his fist around the pin, feeling the petals of the metal flower bite into his skin like thorns.

Damnit, Nureyev. Is _this_ the whole point? Some kind of psychological torture or test of morals? Is this supposed to be message? A taunt?

"Look at what you could have. Who you could be. I'm doing so well without you, darling. Don't forget what you threw away."

Juno opens his fist, dropping the pin on his desk. There is a red imprint left away on his skin, and he traces it with the fingers of his left hand.

Is this really Nureyev's style? Juno isn't sure. There is nothing he's really sure about, when it comes to Nureyev. The man is smart. Smarter than most. Juno is certain that the thief is at least partially aware of his own personal issues. Hell, he told him the first time they met. "I'm more of a catch-your-reflection-at-the-bottom-of-a-glass-and-feel-sick kind of guy."

So maybe it works. Juno stares at the pin, and he can imagine Nureyev's smile. He can see the man pick it up, hold it against the silk of a fancy tie, checking that the colors match. Juno can see Nureyev bending over him, adjusting his collar and putting the pin in place. He would have _that_ smile on, the one that makes everything feel like a secret they're sharing.

Juno can see all of that, and it makes his chest ache.

He cannot throw the pin away. It's too beautiful, worth too much. Not only in terms of money.

There is a shrill voice, at the back of his head. "At least he hasn't forgotten you," the voice chants. Over, and over, and over again. At least he hasn't forgotten you. Yet.

Juno feels disgusted by his own selfishness. He takes another gulp of whiskey. Then he shoves the pin back into its bag, and dumps the whole thing in his bottom left drawer.

The drawer is empty, except for a crumpled note on white paper. He closes it without looking.

 

***

 

Juno receives a pendant next, in the same kind of sleek postal box. It lies at the end of a thin golden chain, a delicate crown decorated with almost transparent stones.

He receives it the day after his confrontation with the Proctor, and almost throws the box in his bin as soon as Rita gives it to him. Rita is looking at him with the considerate eyes that tell him she knows something is up.

He thought he was getting better. Thought he had gotten better. Now he thinks, again and again, of lashing out against Mick. He thinks of the Proctor's riddle, wishing desperately to be right, not really caring if he was wrong. Only realising later on what he had put his best friend through.

And now this. Another mysterious package with no return address, and Juno knows it's from Nureyev. It has to be.

He's sick of mind games. He doesn't have time, nor patience or energy for this.

Rita is looking at him with concern written all over her face, and he belatedly realises that his hand has been shaking the whole time, holding the package.

“Are you okay Mister Steel? Do you need something? Do you know who this package is from?”

Juno drops it on his desk and lays his hand next to it. He quickly uses his new cybernetic eye to scan it, making sure that it really is a new gift from Nureyev and not something dangerous.

“I'm fine, Rita. I... There's nothing dangerous in this package.”

Rita starts worrying one of her tight curls of hair. She looks like she is hesitating between coming closer and leaving the room entirely. She's much too silent to Juno's taste who, despite his constant complaints, has grown accustomed to her constant chatter.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” Rita finally says, turning around and finally leaving the room. Juno hears her load up a show on her computer screen, though he notices she keeps the volume quite low. She's probably listening in on him. Juno sighs. People and their damn concern.

He finally opens the box, in silence. He holds the chain in his left hand and watches the little crown dance, stomach twisting. He wishes he had a drink on his desk ready to be thrown back, but he doesn't. So instead he runs his finger over the delicately crafted pendant. Juno doesn't know what the stones are worth, but judging on craftmanship, he would say that the pendant is worth less than the tie pin of the previous month had been. It doesn't mean it's not worth a lot, of course not. But it puts things in a slightly different perspective.

The objects weren't picked just because of their value. They were chosen for what they meant. A flower, like Rose and Dahlia, and a crown for a king.

Mind games. Is he somehow supposed to guess what the next gift would be? Or has he relinquished the right to Peter Nureyev, now left with only the memories of some of his aliases? Juno has no idea. He's tired. Physically and mentally. Tired of it all.

He crosses his arms over his desk and settles his head against them. He closes his eyes. He still has paperwork to do from his last personal case, which his little stint with Ramses and the Proctor has already delayed. He'll get to it eventually. He'll sit up again, drop the necklace inside his bottom left drawer, and get to work.

In just a moment.

 

***

 

Ramses calls him like he usually does: last-minute, orders ready and a smug air about him. Damn, does Juno hate the man sometimes. Even though he stands by his goals, his personality is insufferable.

“What do you want?”, Juno snaps as he picks up the call.

Ramses – the bastard – only chuckles. “Got up on the wrong side of the bed detective?”

“Nah. Only realised you were the one calling me, soured my mood like cabbage in vinegar. Also, it's six thirty in the evening. So what do you want?”

“That you get dressed in the most elegant outfit you can muster in the next ten minutes. We're going to a party.”

“What.” Juno's voice is flat, no-nonsense. It doesn't work on Ramses, but you get nothing if you don't try.

“A party. A gathering of important people around fancy drinks and expensive food cut into the tiniest portions. A place where the rich pretend to like each other and enjoy themselves, all the while-”

“I know what a party is, Ramses.”

“Good. Because you're going to one, and I need you presentable.”

“I'm still at my office.”

There's a pause on the other end of the line while the man processes the information. “Well. That's a detour, but we can still make it fashionably late. Dress nice, Juno.”

Juno shivers, all of his body tensing up as the comm line closes. Something in Ramses' inflection had been too much the echo of another's. Juno has been haunted enough times already.

He forces himself to stand up and looks down at his clothes. They're crumpled, and there's a stain on his shirt. He sighs, frustrated, and looks around his office. _Damned Ramses and his damned last-minute plans_. Juno keeps a spare shirt in one of his cabinets. PI work has a tendency to get messy. The garment is a bit rumpled when he puts it on, but passable. He's lucky he was wearing one of his nicer jackets today. The trousers are a lost cause, but what can you do.

He rummages around. He should have a tie, somewhere, a Christmas gift he had forgotten after having worn it once on a night that had ended disastrously – story of his life. On his way he finds a half-empty tube of lipstick, a nice shade which matches his jacket, and puts it on. He also borrows a bit of eyeliner from the stash Rita keeps in one of her drawers.

Ten minutes pass, which means he has maybe three more before Ramses knocks on his door and takes him who-knows-where. Juno will look out of place. He always does, during such events. Even more so if he doesn't find his damn tie – there. He finds it at the back of a cupboard next to a box he doesn't remember ever putting there. A mystery to investigate later.

He loops the tie around his neck efficiently, with a simple well-practiced knot. As he straightens it, his hands still.

He bursts into laughter.

The giggles run through him like sobs. He must be a lot more tired than he thought. Still, the idea is there in his mind, and he has to laugh if he doesn't want to cry about it.

The color of the stone on Nureyev's tie pin matches his outfit.

Still shaking from a laughter tainted with fear, Juno opens his bottom-left drawer. He opens the little black bag and picks up the pin between two of his fingers, taking the time to look at it again. He uses it to hold his tie in place, and it feels like exhaling a breath held too long.

He still has a smile on his face when he slides into Ramses' car, which seems to throw the man off for a moment. He quickly recovers, though, looking Juno up and down and shrugging. “It will have to do,” he says, and signals to the driver to start the car again.

Ramses explains a few things on the way, no more than Juno has to know. The party they're going to is organised by some offensively rich proprietors in Hyperion, and everybody who's important enough in purse or function is going to be there. Obviously, a good number of those people aren't exactly Ramses' friends. So that's where Juno comes in, acting half as a bodyguard and half as a spy. Ramses point to his cybernetic eye with a smile of complicity. Something churns in Juno's stomach. _Here comes the paycheck_.

In nervousness, he traces the length of his tie pin, once. The ridges of the sculpted ornament bite at his skin like tiny pinpricks.

Juno straightens his tie, nods at Ramses, and steps out of the car. He spends the night exchanging niceties and spying on people, and after a few drinks he feels detached enough not to care.

 

***

 

From then on, there are bad days and good days. He is highly conscious of having become Ramses' puppet, and plays along while trying to find out _anything_ about what the man really wants. Some days, Juno actually lets himself believe there is at least one person in Hyperion City who still has ideals. Other days he feels like when the mask finally falls off, he will have deserved no better.

Some days, bottom-left drawer firmly closed and mind entirely focused on his work, Juno barely remembers that a man called Peter Nureyev exists. Other days he carries a crown pendant under his clothes like a dog tag, and it feels like hope and punishment all at once, like something that burns.

There's no more packages, then there's no more time to worry about that.

The mayoral campaign is at its peak, tensions at their highest, and someone tries to kill Ramses O'Flaherty.

There have been doubts in Juno's mind, fuelled by hunches, stray words suppressed too late, silences lasting too long. After the laser blast grazes Ramses' shoulder instead of hitting him in the heart, there is one thing he has no doubt about. This is wrong. This, this election, this system. It's wrong. Maybe Ramses has a secret agenda, but he's also the only one even hinting at a change in things. He has to be protected.

Juno's the one to bring up the idea of staying at Ramses' place. The politician, shoulder still bandaged up, agrees.

The house is big, definitely a rich person's, but it's smaller than it could have been and – thankfully – not in one of the flying estates. Juno would probably have reconsidered his plan otherwise.

He gets a room on the ground floor, with en-suite bathroom and everything. The bed alone is probably only slightly smaller than the size of Juno's kitchen. Ramses catches him staring as they're taking a tour of the house, and shrugs. “You don't get far into politics if you can't prove other politicians that you're playing on the same level as them. And that often means showing you've got enough money to be considered a big fish.”

Juno doesn't like it. He distrusts money in general, though he's still got to pay the bills, like everyone else. Still, he guesses he can see a certain appeal in the large bathtub and the soft sheets of his bed. He knows he'd better not get used to it, though.

Living in Ramses' place means he stops taking on more cases, finishing the ones he had already signed on only when he knows Ramses is in a safe place with an adequate numbers of bodyguards around him. The whole arrangement means it's easier and more convenient for Ramses to order him around, and the man enthusiastically makes use of this new advantage. Still, Juno is restless. He's waiting for something to happen, and he doesn't like that. Trouble usually finds him quickly enough. There has never been a need to go look for it. He feels caged inside Ramses' house. He misses his work. He misses his tiny office. Damn, does he miss Rita.

Considering his profession and the added circumstances, it's not surprising that Juno's sleep tends to be very light these days. He usually wakes up at least once a night, quite regularly two. If he can't fall back asleep immediately, he'll stand up and walk through the ground floor of the house, checking that everything is in its place.

Tonight, it's the second time he gets up. It's a bit after three in the morning. The house is as silent as ever. Juno starts what he's been calling his round for the last ten days. Nothing looks undisturbed, until he reaches the door to Ramses' secondary office. (Juno hasn't asked why the guy needs two offices in one house, and then an official one in the city on top of that. To each their own. Rich people always feel entitled to more than they need anyway. Whatever.)

There is light coming from the room, just the barest hint of it. If Juno had to guess, he would say that the desk lamp is on while the rest of the room stays in the dark.

It's suspicious. There is a chance that it's just Ramses working off a bout of insomnia, but the fact he would have only secondary lighting on in the middle of the night is weird.

Juno focuses his synthetic eye on the door, activating the heat sensors to determine how many people (if any) are in the room. The image he gets isn't perfect, and superimposes itselt on top of his normal vision in a confusing and uncomfortable way. Still, he's now certain there's only one person in the room, and from the look of it they're standing up, bent slightly over the desk. The fact that they aren't sitting makes the hypothesis that it is in fact just Ramses working even more implausible.

He can't just open the door and shoot blindly (ah!), even on stun. There still _is_ a chance that the person in the room has a perfectly valid reason to be there that doesn't involve a crime and a threat to Ramses' safety. Juno can't actually see through walls.

He calms his breathing down and pulls his gun out of its holster. He opens the door in one fluid motion and raises his weapon. “Hands where I can see them,” he orders clearly. His cybernetic eye is locked on target, but it takes him a second to actually _see_ who the target is.

“Hello Juno,” Peter Nureyev says, voice low and serious but with a hint of a smile behind it.

Juno freezes. His gun is still held up in the air. He can't look away. He physically can't, not when his eye is still locked in target mode. He has to remember to breathe.

Nureyev is slowly raising his hands above his head, staring at Juno with an expression so neutral it could be cast from plaster.

Juno breathes. He can feel the crown-shaped pendant he's wearing under the t-shirt he sleeps in. It feels like it's burning his skin. Juno still doesn't know why he started wearing the damn thing, but he curses himself for it.

“What are you doing here?” He lets out, voice low but cutting.

At least Nureyev seems to be taking him seriously, because he doesn't try to crack a joke or charm his way out. And he carefully leaves his hands up in the air.

“I wish you weren't involved in this, Juno, I really do.” Juno carefully refocuses his eyes on Nureyev, who seems to notice it and straighten imperceptibly. “I'm here to steal something. I guess you had already figured that one out. You're a detective after all.” The tiniest of smiles makes its way onto his features. It looks strained. “I'm here to steal information about Ramses' true plan.”

“True plan? What do you mean?” Juno knows Nureyev. He knows how slippery the man can be. Shooting on sight would be perfectly justified. He doesn't. He tries to tell himself that it's because of his own suspicions, because he wants to hear what Nureyev has to say before he brings him in. You can't blame a fool for trying.

“Your gun is making me slightly uncomfortable-”

“Good, it's supposed to.”

Nureyev raises an eyebrow but lets the interruption slide. “So I'm gonna be brief. Ramses O'Flaherty isn't who you think he is. He isn't who Hyperion City thinks he is. I know it's terribly tempting to believe him, to believe _in_ him, but he's lying.”

Juno knew Nureyev would say that. He'd already known the answer when he asked. He sighs. “You say that. Do you have evidence? Do you have anything conclusive that proves Ramses isn't just one of the few people actually trying to do good in this shithole of a place?”

The look he receives is one of pity. It makes him feel so disgusted he has to force himself not to press his trigger there and then. 

“You must have changed a lot if you now think guilty-until-proven-innocent is a healthy philosophy to hold in a city like Hyperion.”

“Maybe I have,” Juno replies defiantly. He doesn't like the look in Nureyev's eyes. In the months – nearly a year, really – since they had last seen each other, Juno has somehow forgotten how hard to read he is. It goes to prove that anything can be forgotten with enough time and applied willpower.

“You must have looked into the man. You must know that he appeared out of nowhere, fully formed. He has fabricated himself. That, and the fact he is a politician, I would think it makes him suspicious enough already. If I recall correctly, you used to find it quite important to know exactly who people were before acquainting yourself with them.”

At least he doesn't hide the reproach. Juno has the urge to look away. “Point taken. Still, like you said yourself, I knew that. It's not anything conclusive. It doesn't prove a damn thing.”

“As you're aware of, I have very personal reasons not to trust mysterious idealists who promise to save the world.” Juno can't help but flinch at that. The memory he had grasped from Nureyev's mind is still fresh in his. He can feel his heart breaking all over again, his trust being betrayed, his world turning upside down and the weight of it in the hands of a sixteen-year old. “That's why I did some digging. Deep digging. The kind you would frown upon.” The remark earns him a raised eyebrow. “I still haven't been able to find out who he really is. Being a bit of a master at creating identities myself, the fact that someone could one-up me is frustrating. And, again, incredibly suspicious. Still, I did find _something_.”

Juno makes a _go on_ gesture with the hand holding his gun. It makes Nureyev flinch before he can stop himself. That feels pretty satisfying to Juno, because it means Nureyev is worried. Which means Juno might have a bit more control on the situation than what he feels he has. If he's honest with himself, he doesn't feel in control at all. He wants to believe Nureyev, and at the same time he absolutely does not. He wants to, because he's been having his own suspicions, because it all seemed to easy, because the story fits _exactly_ what he would expect. He doesn't want to _because_ it is such a perfect fit. And because Nureyev is dangerous, and dangerously good at manipulating all kinds of people. Still, he wants to believe, because Nureyev had asked him to trust him once, and he hadn't, and had regretted it for months. Ever since, actually.

The man goes on, apparently unaware of the turmoil of emotion boiling within Juno. “You're working quite closely with him, so I assume you also know he gets funding for his campaign through sponsoring. I took a look at how he spends it. There was some suspicious activity. It falls well in line with most others politicians, but well. Ramses does claim not to be like other politicians. I tried to trace the money. A ridiculously complicated process. I don't think my skills match your secretary's in that domain.”

Juno glares at him. There's no way things aren't going to get personal, not between them. But he's not gonna let other people be dragged into this. Especially not Rita.

“I figured it out, I think. Apparently the money was paid to someone working at Dark Matters. It was sent to an account opened _by_ Dark Matters, as a matter of fact.”

Juno frowns. Nureyev does have a point in saying that this is suspicious enough to warrant more investigation.

“I can show you the transfers, if you want. There's an encrypted file in the external drive in my right pant pocket.”

Juno goes to check. He has to lower his weapon to do so, but Nureyev keeps still.

“I would advise against opening the file on this computer,” the thief says as Juno goes to turn on Ramses' laptop. “Just in case he has the activity on it monitored.”

Juno sighs. “I don't have a tablet with me and I'm not about to let you out of my sight. So we'll work on the basis that I'm believing you for now.” He doesn't hand the small drive back to Nureyev, a fact he is sure the man noticed. “What do you think you were going to find here?”

“Can I at least put my hands down? This is starting to get really uncomfortable.”

Juno feels nervous enough that he would like to start fidgeting with his pendant, but he also doesn't want to draw attention to it. “Keep them where I can see them. I'm not letting go of the gun.”

“Wouldn't have thought so.” Nureyev slowly lowers his arms, and shows Juno his palms for good measure. “I'm looking for information. Communication between Ramses and Dark Matters, times they might have crossed paths. At first I thought the money to Dark Matters was some sort of bribe, but the amounts vary from time to time. It's not surprising to learn even an organisation like Dark Matters is corrupt, but if it is it goes deeper than just on the level of a few individuals.”

“Dark Matters is partly independent from the government, right? But it still gets funded through them.”

“Quite so. Though if Ramses is any indication, private investors are starting to play a role in their dealings as well.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“Like I said, not that much. Most payments are around the 10.000 creds mark.”

Not that much. It still is enough money to make Juno's head swim. He puts the hand that isn't holding his gun against his temple. This is not what he thought would happen when he woke up. He should already be back in bed. He wishes he could be back in bed by now.

“You said you dug around to get all this information. You got access to Ramses' private files?”

Nureyev shrugged. There were some filing cabinets along the wall, and he had started leaning against them. “Let's just say it's not the first time I've been in this house.”

_Damnit_. This is Juno's fault. A private company is in charge of securing Ramses' building, but the whole reason he's here is to make sure that that is enough. Obviously it isn't, since this is at least the second time Nureyev breaks in, and only the first time he's caught. “Damnit, Nureyev.”

“I did truly mean what I said, Juno.” Here is that sweet tone of his, the one that feels downright _caring_ in a horribly wrong way. “I wish you didn't have to be involved in this. It would have been so much easier for both of us.”

“Ah. As if anything's ever been easy with both of us involved.”

“Well, we never did try to take the easy route, did we?” He raises one eyebrow as he says it, gracefully. The gesture is so familiar Juno aches with it. Because Nureyev's right. The worst thing is that he's _right_ , because Juno could have tried, Juno could have _stayed_. By all means Nureyev's _right_ to be pissed off with him, would be right to even be aggressive. That's not his style, though.

“I do wonder what's going to happen to me now,” Nureyev continues, acting like it only vaguely bothers him. “I've told you what I know and what I've come here for. I promise I'm not here to make money. I'm here to do something good, for once. I'm trying to do something good. You can believe me or not, that's your choice. I've learned there's no way I'll force you to trust me-”

“Stop that,” Juno cuts in. He says it louder than he intends to, and worries a second that somebody is gonna hear. “Stop with the games. Either make it personal or don't, but don't bring things up so casually just to-”

“Oh, so you think you can have me follow your rules? I'm at your mercy right now, _detective Steel_. There's nothing I could say or do that could probably land me in a bigger mess than this. But I knew the risks. I knew the risks and how _personal_ they would be, and I took them, because this was important. _Because_ it was personal. It was stupid and _sentimental_ , but I took the risks because I needed to know. And because I don't want you to get hurt. Not like I did.”

Nureyev's voice stays even throughout his tirade, but Juno can feel it's not for lack of emotion. Nureyev's always been all about control.

“So you can believe me, or not. You can let me go, or not. You can let me get the information I've come here for, or not. I'm not sure I really care, Juno.” He lets out a huff of breath that might have been trying to be a laugh. The mostly neutral mask seems to fall instantly, replaced by a bone-deep tiredness. “I'm not sure I really care.”

“You can't say that.” Juno is still holding the gun, though it hasn't been pointing in Nureyev's direction for a while now. “You can't say you don't care when you're here and I... I... I don't know what to do, okay?” He feels pinpricks right behind his eyes. “You're not supposed to be here. It's not supposed to go like this.”

“Well, clearly...”

“Shut up!” Juno raises his voice slightly, and points the gun towards Nureyev again. He can see the man tense once more, though he tries to keep a composed air. “Shut up. Don't say anything. I need to think, okay, and I can't do that if you're here and playing those mind games of yours and-”

“Juno-”

Nureyev takes a step forward, despite the weapon trembling in Juno's hand. He reaches a hand out, but doesn't touch the detective. “You need to calm down. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not doing anything.”

“Don't. Don't... say that. You leave. That's what you do. You're always going somewhere.”

Nureyev takes in a sharp breath and takes back his hand. “I wasn't the one who left last time.”

“I know,” Juno all but whines. “I know! Don't you think I know that? Don't you think that's all I've thought about for months? But you would have. You would have left at some point, because that's how you work. I can't keep you with me, I can't... but then you sent me gifts, of all things, and what did they _mean_ Nureyev? What the fuck did they mean? What kind of fucked-up game were you trying to play?”

Nureyev seems taken aback by the outburst. Juno knows he's shaking all over, his breathing coming out too fast and too loud and not pulling in enough air.

“I... I just...” Nureyev hesitates. He raises his hand, as if to start scratching his neck, but stops himself and carefully lowers it again. “You got those, uh? I...”

“Spit it out, Nureyev. Whatever you had in mind, I doubt it's worse than anything I could come up with...”

“Juno...”

“Spit. It. Out.”

Nureyev sighs, looking down. He looks smaller somehow. Vulnerable, but not in the purposefully non-threatening way Juno knows he's mastered. Just human. “I didn't think we would ever see each other again. I truly didn't. It was... It wasn't a game. I don't think so. It was just something stupid. The pendant, the pin, I... I saw them and I... thought of you. And that didn't seem fair. That you had left, had abandoned me without a word, after Miasma, after everything... and I would still see a stupid flower and think _that color would suit him_ , as if that was ever something that had happened between us.”

Juno feels his anger deflate under the weight of those words. It's so similar to the things he has thought himself that if feels almost too easy to believe. Something at the back of his mind wonders if he could ever believe _anything_ about Nureyev.

“I picked them up without really knowing what I was doing. They were there, it was so easy and then... And then I was left staring at them not knowing what to do. So I sent them. It was the easiest way to deal with things, in a sense. Get the problem far away from me. And I thought...” He starts laughing. It's a sad sound, something like a self-depricating chuckle. “I guess I thought if I had to think about you, you would have to think about me. Misery loves company. So I guess maybe I _was_ playing some kind of mind game. You don't have to believe me, but I truly didn't even realise it.”

Juno lets his arm drop. He doesn't let go of his weapon, isn't sure he could at this point. It feels like his hand is going to be stuck in the same position forever. _Damn_ , is he tired. Why couldn't he have just slept on, blissfully unaware? And waited until Ramses betrayed him or Nureyev brought him down. Whichever came first.

“I hadn't stopped thinking about you.” Nureyev looks up at him. Juno doesn't want to crush the hope in his eyes. “Even before I got your first... present. I _couldn't_ stop thinking about you. It was... I was in a bad place. I had made my choice but that doesn't... Sometimes you can think something is the best option and still regret it with every fibre of your body. I meant what I said in that place. When Miasma...” He trails off.

_You're the best thing that's ever happened to me._

He takes a deep breath and pulls the chain out from under his t-shirt. The crown pendant dangles at its hand, the dim light of the room giving it a soft glow. “I thought you were mocking me. Playing with me. Sending me a message. I don't know. I thought you wanted to make me regret... more. Harder. I thought I deserved that.” He closes his eyes. Nureyev could have left by now. He could have slipped through the window, disappeared. Juno's hands are shaking, his grip on his gun could be broken in just a second. Nureyev definitely has the skill to do it. It wouldn't even have to hurt. He's still here though. Juno opens his eyes. “I started wearing this thing anyway. A month back, I think. It's always felt part-painful and part-comforting. I wear it anyway.”

“Juno...”

He chuckles, looking away from Nureyev once more. His breathing is still a bit ragged. “ _Don't make it personal_ , I said. Right.”

He looks over at Nureyev, standing in the middle of the room more awkwardly than Juno has ever seen him. Hell, part of him had been convinced that Nureyev just _doesn't_ do awkward. He's wearing a dark collared shirt over slightly lighter jeans and has a pair of thin gloves on. It's an inconspicuous outfit, but easy to move in. Perfect for a robbery. Juno searches his face for a while. He finds everything he could have looked for. Nureyev's face hasn't changed a bit. The features that are there behind each of his masks, the features Juno has learned to associate with Nureyev himself, they're still there. He notices that the man looks tired. At least Juno's not alone in that, then. It hurts, him being here, like this. The choice between Nureyev and the life he had built for himself had nearly killed Juno once. Now he has to make it all over again.

“I can't just believe you,” Juno says and sees Nureyev react with a flinch. “Weirdly I... I think I do. I know something's off with Ramses, but... he's also the only one who even pretends to be trying. I need to believe in that, at least a little. So that's why I can't just believe you and not check.” He pulls out the external drive. “So I'll check. And I'll... I'll see if I can find more.” That will mean learning a bit more than the basics about how to use a computer, and probably asking a lot of help from Rita. But she's been telling him she's bored for months, now, so she probably won't mind. “I'm staying with Ramses for now. If you can convince me... I'll be able to keep on eye on him from the inside. If not... If I think you're wrong, please don't try anything again.” He looks Nureyev in the eye as he says it, making sure the man is taking him seriously.

He can't say he hopes Nureyev is right. That would mean giving up on the last shred of hope he has for Hyperion City. Hope born out of desperation, but hope still. If Nureyev is wrong though, he can admit he hopes he won't see him again. The prospect reminds him too much of taking a knife to his own family, with hands not yet fully-grown. It's not the same. It's far from being the same, but both seem too painful to bear, and that's enough. Juno will do what he has to do. Just like Nureyev did.

The same thing goes if Nureyev's right. If there really is no hope for this city, if Ramses is the same kind of liar as all the others... He'll do what he has to do. He'll take the shot. And then... Then what? He'll stay and watch the world burn, like he always has? He'll try to put out a few flames, pretend it makes a diffence even if he can't breathe through the smoke?

He'll watch Nureyev leave again? He'll leave _him_ again?

Months have passed. Nearly a year. He looks at Nureyev and sees all the things that could have been, so long ago. He wonders which of them could still be. He wonders in which ways they have changed, the both of them.

“I take it you're letting me go, then?” Nureyev asks, softly. Juno feels like he's a delicate flower, being handled with utmost care. It doesn't feel as frustrating as he thought it would.

“Yeah. For now.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to criticize my lack of character coherency, please come do so @punxbarton on tumblr.


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